Wake Up Call
by timydamonkey
Summary: One shot A Maria POV fic, essentially a prequel to Darkest Hour. Secrets are being unveiled that could damage her reputation: and she'll stop it at any cost. She'll put a lot on the line for the sake of honour which she already unknowingly lacks.


Wake Up Call:

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Disclaimer: The Mediator does not belong to me, nor do any characters in this one-shot.

Author's Notes: Basically a prologue to Darkest Hour in Maria'spoint of view- so it should fit into canon. Please point out any discrepancies.

Apologies for the awful Spanish: I had to use a translator as I do French at school - and we all know how unreliable those things can be. Any Spaniards reading (or heck, people who can speak Spanish even if it's not their first language), feel free to correct me.

The reason I use Spanish is because it sounds better and I imagine that, in those times, they would have mostly spoke in Spanish. I get the hunch mostly from Jesse, who seems to know a lot of Spanish but only uses it –now- to curse. If you desperately want to know what the earlier bits mean, a translator will sort it out, though some have translations written nearer than you might think.

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I remember sleeping, then a voice in my ear and a hand smoothing my hair as the voice whispered, '_usted es muerto. ¡Recepción a la eternidad, Maria!_' 

And then I remember pain – an eternity of pain

Then, all of a sudden, I find the pain gone. I gasp in surprise as the pain ebbs away as if it were never there – I am by no means making a complaint about the complete freedom, but it feels extremely different to what I have grown accustomed to.

My eyes, which I generally keep shut to avoid them being burned by the flaming embers and causing me further suffering, open slowly, and I find myself staring up at a ceiling of wood, feeling quite claustrophobic.

After a moment of staring in wonder at something that wasn't filled with reds, oranges and yellows, I reach up to push off the lid and have a taste of the one thing that I'd lacked for so long – air. This doesn't seem possible, however, when my hand went straight through the wooden top of my box.

After pondering for a moment, I realize that something I have done must have been right. It is almost a blessing in disguise – if my hand went through the lid of this box-place, then I could go through it also. Testing my theory, it turned out to be true. '_Pozo hecho, Maria,' _I applaud myself, and then stare at the box with distain.

It is a coffin.

The voice had evidently not been lying when it informed me of my death.

'_Soy muerto,' _I whisper in wonderment, and then stare down at myself for the first time. I jump in fright as I look down – I see myself as a glowing entity, cloaked in white.

I am a ghost. _¡Soy un fantasma! _It is something that is quite impossible but cannot be a lie. This is no elaborate joke – this is a reality.

I now take a look around the place I am in – it is damp and dark, with recurring and irritating little dripping noises. The entire place is made of stone, and more coffins surround me. This is when it hits me – I am in a crypt. The Diego family crypt…

I stare down at the coffin again – _my _coffin – and find myself wanting to see the contents of it – what I had just been lying in. Lifting it obviously wouldn't work, and I get angrier and angrier, resorting to willing it to open. To my great surprise, the coffin lid flies off and smacked against the wall of the crypt with a resounding smack and the nails making little clunking noises as they also come out and hit the stone floor.

_¡Nombre de Dios! _

My body is decomposing. It is disgusting. I stare as if in a trance and, for the first time, wonder why exactly I am here when I should be dead. Is this a second chance?

My ghostly hand reaches out of its own accord, gripping the fingers of my rotting body. Touching it is repulsive, but I do not step back, just let my hands close over those remaining attached to my body.

All of a sudden, my head feels as if it has been struck with a blunt object I have such a headache. I try to withdraw my hand, but it does not seem to be under my control, so I scrunch my eyes shut instead.

This cannot be normal. Something is very, very wrong – this cannot be a normal experience…

My brain is giving the impression of having recently been hit with a lightning bolt – and with it comes a stray thought, a word.

_Hector. _

I blink, unfastening my fingers from cold, dead, stinking flesh and stare down at myself. It seems to be sinking in that I am the decomposing corpse, and it is very unsettling.

"Maria," says a voice that would probably have made me jump out of my skin had I retained any in this ghostly form.

"Felix," I breathe, reaching a hand out to touch him but this time it halts of its own accord. It is nice to see him again, looking young although the unearthly glow also seems to signify that he is another member of this apparent undead society. _"¿Por qué estamos aquí?_" I ask him. _Why are we here?_

I do not know if he will have a better idea than I do – and I am unsure of any potential reasoning to my being here – but I feel as if I really need to know.

His voice comes out as a growl. "Hector," he replies gruffly, glaring at the ceiling with such a piercing hatred that if the ceiling were alive, it would be far more dead than we are right now.

I ask him, "_¿Qué mi primo tiene que hacer con esto?" What does my cousin have to do with this?_

"_Todo,"_ he replies. _Everything._ I stare at him, unconvinced and wondering why he seems to be so upset about something. Then I remember the lightning bolt feeling, the uncanny idea that something is wrong, my cousin's name suddenly coming into my head and my unease at it happening, and I know something is truly wrong.

He leans close to me, and a ghostly hand caresses my face. It seems that, although we go through inanimate objects, to each other, we are as solid as if we were alive. This, at least, is some form of comfort.

"Maria," he whispers in my ear, "**_alguien sabe_**." My blood – had I any left – would be running cold. As it is, the chill still whips through me, and tingles up my spine (or where it should be - whether or not I, in this form, have bones is unknown).

_**Somebody knows.**_

My breath catches in my throat and I gulp, before cursing aloud. I know what Felix is referring to, but it can hardly sink in. I wrap my arms around my self and moan at the idea of our plot unravelling.

Things are not as they should be – but at least we can correct that.

And I will not hesitate to do so.

More than my pride is at stake – it is a matter of family honour, and Felix and I shall not disgrace our names or we'd die trying. And considering we were already dead… _nothing_ could stop us.

Soon, we would make the world right itself, and then, perhaps we can get our final resting place, where we can sleep and not be tormented.

Perhaps – but being given a second chance is everything, and Felix and I shall not disappoint.

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Author's Note: Reviews would be much appreciated. :) 


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